Firelight
by Quicksilver Ink
Summary: ﴾Suikoden III﴿ During a lull in the war with Tinto, Salome enjoys a rare quiet evening with his captain. Set several years after the game.


Firelight 

Between the nearly-full moon and the high fire in the fireplace, there was little need for gas lamps or candles, Salome decided. He leaned forward and extinguished the small light at his desk, then put away the paperwork he'd been mulling over. It was nearly midnight, the end of a busy day looking into an early start in the morning, but the vice-captain found himself curiously reluctant to go to bed.

Maybe it was because they were all returning to Vinay del Zexay the next morning – Salome occasionally found himself having difficulty sleeping when there was traveling to be done the next day. The summons home had been expected and of course extremely welcome. The unofficial war with Tinto was taking a breather, as the mining republic had been forced by treaty agreements to transfer their troops far east to help Dunan with some border dispute with Harmonia. Added to that, summer was approaching, and most of the merchants were further inland, stocking up on furs and spices that they could sell during the winter. While there had been some outright attacks on Zexen soldiers, Tinto forces had mostly been assaulting Zexen-affiliated merchants, and the nearly empty trade routes were hardly worth their while.

Salome shook his head at himself; there was such a thing as thinking too much about work, and he'd already wasted his first free evening in months on bookwork that could and probably should have been left for the next day, or even the next week. The others had probably had the right idea, spending the evening relaxing and celebrating, he thought ruefully. Lady Chris had given everyone the evening off in anticipation of the next day's return home, after all.

Well, he'd frittered away the evening, and he'd regret it in the morning if he stayed up too much later, but there was still time for a small bit of celebration on his own, and that bottle of Chishan red he'd been saving for no particular occasion...

He was draining the last few drops of his glass, feeling nicely mellow as he sipped the wine and watched the firelight dancing in the bottle, a sparkling reflection of the real flames, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called, slowly rising to his feet. Off duty or on, there were only about twelve people at Brass Castle that social courtesy dictated he stand for, and only one that rank required, but he made it a habit to rise for anyone, maid or marquis.

The door opened, the firelight glinting red off his captain's silver braids. She'd traded her armor for civilian clothes – a long, high-collared jacket and loose pants, tucked into neat leather boots. "Good evening, Salome. I stopped by to ask why you didn't join our festivities this evening. You missed Roland's recitation of a traditional Elvish epic poem."

"What a shame. I was going over the accounts." Salome offered her a seat in a high-backed chair near the fire, which she sank into just fractionally less elegantly than she normally would have.

"I know you've probably already had some tonight, but would you care for a glass of wine, Lady Chris?" Salome asked her politely.

Chris looked at the bottle. "I'm generally not so fond of red..."

"It's Chishan. I think you'll like it – it's sweet for a red wine." Salome offered her half a glass, since she'd already been drinking that evening – encouraging his commander's inebriation was hardly proper – and refilled his own glass before settling back down in the chair opposite her.

"So, why did you close yourself up here with the bookwork?" Chris asked him, taking a sip with her wine. "You're right – this is good."

"Force of habit, mostly. What other diversions did I miss, besides Roland's poetry recitation?"

"Well, Borus and Percival argued over whose fiancée was more beautiful, and tried to outdo each other in describing their respective charms. Percival stole lines from at least three popular ballads; I doubt his intended has hair 'as golden as the shining sun' and 'inky black trellises, deep as the night.'" There was a hint of amusement in her voice as she continued. "I think they eventually forgot I was there, or maybe they see me as 'one of the boys' these days, because their descriptions started getting a bit more... lurid."

Salome chuckled. "How many cups of wine had they had at this point?"

"Oh, I'm not sure they were even counting anymore."

"Were you?" He noticed a slight flush to Chris's face in the firelight, although most of what he'd poured her remained in her glass.

"Fussing over me, hmmm? I only had two – no, two and a half. The third was an Iksay blush that wasn't very good, but Percival made us all try anyway. I traded glasses with Leo when he wasn't paying attention." Chris paused, taking another sip. "About the time I left, Louis had decided to remind us all he'd come of age by singing some dirty marching song he'd heard the other day. He kept forgetting the words, and Leo kept trying to help him, but he didn't know them either."

"You must have felt left out, with nothing to perform yourself," Salome said dryly.

Chris looked at him oddly. "I know plenty of songs, and even some bawdy ones if it comes to that. I just don't like to sing."

"Weren't you in the church choir, when you were younger?"

"...like I said, I don't like to-"Chris broke off as she became aware of a cacophony that seemed to be traveling down the hall, towards Salome's door. Both turned to look at the door. It remained shut, but words rent by tuneless voices barraged their way through it, and Salome half expected it to shudder under the dissonance.

"Yer one true love's a sailing ship, th'anchors at our pier..."

"We lift her shails; we man her decksh, we shrub the portho's cleaaar... Aand yes our lighthouz shine fer her, and yeah our shoresh are stooorm..."

"'S warm, not shorm... storm."

"...and yeash our shars are warm..."

The voices faded as the drunken quartet made their way down the hall, presumably towards their respective rooms.

Salome swirled the wine in his cup, watching it catch the firelight. "Ah, now I remember why I stayed here with the books. The musical endeavors of our estimable companions after five cups of wine."

"That's more or less the reason I left. That, and three glasses of wine are plenty for me. From the sound of it, I'll be able to gloat over Percival's and Borus's headaches tomorrow morning, too, not just Louis'. And Leo - except he never lets it show the next morning."

"Three?" asked Salome, pouring himself a third. "I thought you said two and a half."

Chris lifted her own glass. "I was counting this one."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping wine beside the slowly fading fire.

"So, Louis is to be knighted soon, correct?" Salome shook his head. "I can hardly believe how much the boy, sorry, the young man, has changed. Three years ago I don't think you could've gotten him to even admit to knowing a dirty song, never mind sing one in front of his captain."

"Well, we all change with time," Chris shrugged. "Louis is the youngest of us, so it's the most noticeable with him, but everyone else has, too. Three years ago, it was painfully obvious Borus was infatuated with me, and Percival never stayed with a woman for more than a few weeks. And now both of them are engaged."

"And Louis's grown up."

"In more ways than just vertically. I've seen him making eyes at some of the chamber-maids, and from what I've heard he's been doing more than that."

"Oh?" Salome raised an eyebrow.

"I have Moira – she's in charge of all of the maids – tell me when any of the men cause trouble below-stairs. Louis hasn't, of course, but she informed me the other day about what he's been up to all the same." She smiled slightly. "To think six months ago, Percival offered to have a talk with him because he seemed shy around women. I suppose we shouldn't have worried."

Salome leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "You know, Chris, not everyone chases skirts at that age, even if they claim to. Plenty of young men are all talk."

"I didn't mean there was anything wrong with him. I meant that he seemed to have trouble relating with them on a less, ahem, personal level." Chris was looking down, swirling the wine in her glass, but she sneaked a glance upward. A log shifted in the fireplace, sending a spray of sparks into the air as the flames flared up briefly. "So, were you?"

"Was I what?"

"All talk. When you were Louis's age."

"Lady Chris, please!" Salome realized his reaction was a bit stronger than it should have been – Chris was only teasing. He took up his wine glass and had a sip before continuing, more calmly. "You know me better than that."

"True, you've never seemed the sort to dally with maids or lord's daughters."

A smile played across Salome's face. "Well, there was a fine lady I spent some nights with in my youth..."

Chris looked surprised. "Oh?" Was that a note of disappointment in her voice? No, probably not, he was just projecting.

"It was the summer I turned fifteen. I was absolutely smitten. I woke up a number of mornings covered in straw, in the stables."

"...Oh."

"She had the deepest brown eyes I'd ever seen, and long golden hair. She was a bit headstrong, and admittedly had a fiery temper, but she was all sweetness if she knew you'd brought her something nice. She was fond of apples..." he sighed nostalgically. "And then she took an arrow in the shoulder one rather nasty day, so we regretfully parted ways. I believe Borus's bay Sturmmaler is one of her get."

Then Chris laughed, and Salome laughed, both a bit too loudly, and Salome realized belatedly that he was just a bit drunk. He'd had more wine than he'd intended to, in a shorter time than was quite wise.

"I imagine the grooms laughed when you insisted on sleeping in the stables?"

"Oh, no, they were actually rather understanding of the slightly bookish squire who was devoted to his horse. It was my parents who objected – my mother fretted I'd get a cold, and father told me it wasn't proper for a Harras to sleep in a barn."

"You know, I've heard the same story from Percival, although in his case it was a plow horse, not a war horse, and he was closer to ten. I don't think his parents minded, though."

"That certainly sounds like Percival." Salome found himself sipping his wine again, so he set down his glass and stretched his legs out. "So what about yourself, Chris? Any great loves in your youth that you care to look back on and laugh?"

He hadn't really expected any such stories, nor for her to take him seriously, so he was mildly surprised when Chris blushed. "I _am_ still in my youth, Salome. If you listen to Percival and Borus reminiscing about when they were twenty-five, at any rate."

"Ah, forgive my indiscretion, then."

"Don't worry about it. It wouldn't work out anyway. If I had any, that is," she amended quickly. "I've had plenty of admirers, but... that's because I'm the Silver Maiden, the Water Champion. I've more titles than a Dunan ambassador. It doesn't work, to have one person be worshiped like that. It'd be too unbalanced. I'd rather have a lover who views me as a mortal woman, not as the Goddess come to earth."

"But you aren't exactly mortal, Chris." It slipped out before Salome even realized he'd thought it.

Chris flinched visibly. "There's that, too."

"Well, I don't think many men would object to a wife who stays eternally youthful," Salome said lightly. "And any driven away by the thought of you being more powerful than they wouldn't be worth having. On the other hand, there's poor Hugo, eternally fifteen..."

"I suppose my marriage prospects are better than his, even if he does have a year or so before being trapped by the role of chief." Chris smiled, but he knew it was forced. Strange. Chris had never seemed particularly worried about romance or marriage before. It was probably just that engagements were on everyone's mind, with Borus and Percival so frequently discussing theirs.

He decided to change the subject. "What are you planning to do when we return to Vinay del Zexay?"

Chris thought for a moment, draining the last of her wine. "The usual – sleep in, go to training every few days, listen to Molly fuss once again about how the house is so empty even when I'm home, and how I'm never home. And there's Louis' knighting to oversee."

"That's right. When does he stand vigil?"

"A week from tomorrow. I have to arrange for the service, and...."

The conversation paced through the details of the upcoming investiture, and then meandered about through the past and present, touching on their own knightings, Salome's sister's family, a ghost story Chris had heard when she was young. Eventually, though, the talk died down with the fire, and a comfortable silence settled about them.

Salome felt his eyelids droop precariously, and sat up, blinking and realizing he ought to go to bed. Across from him, Chris was herself asleep in her chair.

It was often said that people look younger in their sleep, but to Salome, Chris's serene features seemed older, sharper in the moonlight. He was used to seeing her in armor, and she'd worn a tailored coat that evening. She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, unmistakably feminine, and almost petite without the added bulk of her armor, but he could never, never mistake her for looking weak.

He was reluctant to wake her, and he hadn't had nearly enough wine to think carrying her back to her rooms would be a good idea, so instead he fetched an extra blanket from his bed.

As he bent to tuck it about her, he found that he'd had enough wine to let himself kiss her gently on the forehead.


End file.
